


The Diviner

by bluebellsandcocklesshells



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fatalism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 07:08:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6744478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebellsandcocklesshells/pseuds/bluebellsandcocklesshells





	The Diviner

Dean collapsed onto the barren rock that was the first horizontal surface he had come into contact with in three days.  After scaling the sheer, cragged face of the Mountain to Heaven, the inhospitable rock ledge was welcome relief.  He’d been climbing up and up and sometimes sideways, and sleeping and eating in the cradle of ropes that were the only thing between him and certain death.  He’d actually run out of rope a thousand feet below and had had to free climb the rest of the way up.  He’d made it, but part of him doubted he’d make it back down to the rope he’d left to mark his path back down.  He had no doubt he’d reach the bottom, but the odds of him being alive when he did were even more dismal than when he’d started this mad quest.

His brother was sick.  His brother was sick with the malady that had claimed his mother’s life.  His father had exhausted their resources trying to find a cure for Sam.  He’d even attempted to scale the mountain to seek out the wisdom of The Diviner.  It took several weeks before a mountain goat herder found his broken body on the rocks just to the east of where he’d begun to scale the mountain.

Dean knew he was crazy to attempt the climb himself because if he died (which was extremely likely) Sam would be alone.  And wouldn’t that defeat the point of promising to protect him?  But Sam was wasting away, slowly and painfully, and Dean thought any risk was worth it if he could find a cure for his brother or even just some way to ease his pain.  He could barely keep down thin chicken broth at this point, and it was clear that his rasping breathing was agonizing.

So here he was, exhausted and hungry and thirsty and sprawled out completely helpless on a small outcropping that didn’t appear to be the place where The Diviner lived.  He didn’t think he could climb any more.  He rolled onto his back and just breathed, feeling his muscles spasm as they attempted to recover from his last desperate struggle to make it to the ledge.

At length, he opened his eyes, expecting to see sky or mountain or clouds.  He gasped softly but couldn’t even physically startle in his exhaustion as he saw a pair of blue eyes looking into his.  The person the eyes belonged to was crouching down just above his head, leaning over so that his face was upside down to Dean’s vision.

“Hello, traveler.”

“H-hello.”

“Would you like some water?”

Dean nodded.  With the man’s help, Dean sat up and then accepted the water skin.  He drank greedily and then finally felt well enough to actually look at his savior.  He was an attractive man who seemed older than twenty but younger than forty—it was nearly impossible to pinpoint an age.  He had dark brown hair, luminous blue eyes, and a kind, curious smile.  He wore a tan robe that enveloped his whole body with a hood covering part of his head.  His hands were tucked into the opposite sleeve of the bulky robe and he was balancing on the balls of his feet.

“Are—are you The Diviner?”

The man smiled.  “Is that why you scaled the mountain?  To speak to The Diviner?”

Dean nodded.  “My brother is sick.  I need to know if he knows what ails him and if he can be saved.”

The man nodded.  “It must be serious to come all this way.”

“He has been sick for almost a year, and grows worse every day.  Whatever it is, it killed my mother.  My father died searching for a cure.  I don’t want to lose him too.”

“Ah.  So, you are searching for a cure for your brother not for his life but so that you won’t be alone.”

Dean flushed hotly with anger at the accusation.  “I’m here to save my brother’s life!”

“Of course, of course.  If you can stand, follow me.  I will take you to The Diviner’s home.”

Dean struggled to his feet, swaying slightly with hunger.

“I hope you have brought something for payment.”

Dean froze at the man’s words, but quickly recovered to hide the fact that he had nothing.  He’d worry about that when negotiations started.

“What’s your name?” Dean asked, following the back of the robed figured.

“Castiel.  And you are, traveler?”

“Dean.”

“Oh!”  The man turned back.  “Dean Colt?  The man who singlehandedly captured all those demons in a devil trap in the western plains?”

Dean scowled slightly.  His father and several other hunters had been on that mission, but everyone only remembered the man who had made it through the pack of demons to the lock by crawling over the blood and bodies of compatriots.

“That was Samuel Colt.”

“Ah.  Yes, I remember now.  Samuel Colt.  He visited The Diviner once, you know.  Asked for a way to capture and contain demons.  I guess it worked.”

Dean’s brow creased in confusion.  The Western Trap was sprung well before Dean had been born.  Castiel would have had to have been very young if Samuel Colt had come here looking for The Diviner.  Or was the mysterious man older than Dean by a decade or two?  He still couldn’t narrow down his appearance to even a single decade.

They wound around a very narrow ledge along the side of the mountain that made Dean very, very nervous.  He kept his eyes focused on his feet and watching where they stepped, just seeing the heels of Castiel’s bare feet peeking out beneath the robe as he walked.

Within a few minutes, which felt endless to Dean, the ledge opened up onto a wide expanse that looked like a giant had scooped a handful of rock from out of the side of the mountain.  The entrance to a cave created a black mar in the slate grey rock.  Castiel led Dean into this cave.

It was dry and while very thin, the air was still fresh the deeper they descended down a gently sloping floor.  Dean put out a hand and felt that the walls were as perfectly smooth as they looked in the fading light from the entrance to the cave.

Just as the sunlight faded to nothing, the barest hint of firelight appeared in front of them.  The ground leveled out and they followed a wide curve in the tunnel.  As they rounded the end of the turn, Dean had to blink against the bright burst of firelight produced in a humongous fireplace in the back wall of a very large cavern.  Curiously, there was very little heat emanating from the roaring flames.  There were two caves on either side of the fireplace that led even deeper into the mountain.  The room he was in contained furniture and paraphernalia that indicated someone made this their primary living space.

Castiel led him to a small, low table set in the middle of a thick, luxurious—gigantic—pelt just to the right of the fireplace.  Stepping onto the grey and white and silver swirled pattern of fur brought instant relief to his feet and legs.  Castiel indicated he should sit at the table, and Dean sat cross-legged on the thick fur.  Castiel sat opposite him and used a hand to indicate that Dean could partake of the meal laid out on the table.

Without concern for poison or deception, Dean ate hungrily, nearly overwhelmed by the quality and delicious taste of the food.  There was a thick stew with tender chunks of meat, potato, and several kinds of root vegetables, and soft bread with a delightfully crisp crust to mop it up with.  There were several types of colorful fruit of which he only recognized two or three, but all were sweet or tart in perfect ripeness.  A large block of medium-soft cheese tasted leaps and bounds better than the sheep curds he was used to eating.  He ate his fill, and then some, washing it down with a light liquid that was more grape juice than wine.

Castiel didn’t eat himself, but seemed delighted by watching Dean.  It was only after he was finished that Dean realized Castiel hadn’t eaten a single bite.

“Are—are you not hungry?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Then why did you have all this food out?”

“I was expecting you, of course.  Well, I was expecting you this morning.  It took you a bit longer to make it up that last part than either of us expected, hm?”

Dean frowned.  “If you knew I was there, why didn’t you help me?”

“It’s not my place to help those that seek my counsel.  You either make it, or you don’t.  I prepared the meal because I knew that you would.”

Dean swallowed.  “You’re The Diviner.”

“Some call me that.  Some call me a prophet.  Some call me a witch.”

“What do you call yourself?”

He smiled.  “Castiel.”

Dean pursed his lips in consternation.  He’d never heard a single rumor or fable about The Diviner that matched any other, but they did all agree that negotiating with him was never easy.

“Do you have the powers people claim you have?”

“What powers have people claimed that I have?”

“Knowledge.”

“Hardly a power.  Any person can have that with the right experience.”

“Knowledge of all.  Knowledge of the future.”

“Knowledge of all…hmm, I will have to deny this.  Knowledge of the future…that is not possible.  The future does not exist.”

Then what do you know?” Dean asked testily.

“I can know a man’s fate.”

“Isn’t that the same as knowing a man’s future?”

“There are many ways a man can reach the same fate.  He often finds himself there by doing everything in his power to avoid it.”

“Can you help at all with my brother?  Do you know why he is sick?  Or…what his fate is?”

“His fate is to be saved by you.”

Dean sat back, a little shocked.  He had been given his answer with very little hem-hawing and offering up no payment.  Then again, it was possible that statement could be interpreted a dozen different ways.  But so long as Sam would live, he didn’t care what it might truly mean.

“So, my brother will live?”

“Of course.  Any person will live until they die.”

Dean scowled.  “That’s a bullshit answer.”

“It is an absolute truth.  There are few of those in this world.”

“Is his fate to live a long, happy life?”

“Is that a consideration?  Happiness?  If he were to live a long life, but face misery and hardship all his years, does that mean you would rather see him dead?”

“Life is never not worth living.”

“Many would disagree with you.”

“Do you?”

“I have no opinion on others’ lives.”

“What about your life?  Would you want to live even if you were miserable?”

“How do you know I’m not miserable?  How do you know I’m alive?”

Dean ran his tongue over his teeth in annoyance.  Some mystic this guy was.  Dean could spout deep sounding bullshit too; it didn’t mean he knew anything.

“Look.  My brother is sick, and I don’t know how to help him.  I want to save his life and see him healthy again.  I was told that you could divine the cause of this illness, so I came to see you.  Can you help me?”  Castiel opened his mouth.  “Specifically with what I just referenced,” he added, hoping to ward off anymore cryptic nonsense.

“I would have to see him to know why he might be sick.”

“Can’t you like, look in a fire or a crystal or something?”

“No.  My fate dictates that I see this young man in person.  So, I will accompany you down the mountain and to your village.”

“Y-you’re going to leave the mountain?”

“Yes.  With you.  I will see if I can offer any help with your brother.  If I can, what will you give me in return?”

“A hearty handshake and the knowledge that you did a good deed?”

Castiel shook his head.  “Saving a life…that requires payment of equal caliber.”

“A life?  You would save a life by ending a life?  How is that fair?”

“That trade is not fair, Dean, of course it’s not.  But it’s your decision to make, not mine.  If I can save your brother’s life, you must give me your heart as payment.”

Dean went very cold over his whole body.  This was awful.  If it was his fate to sacrifice his life to save Sam’s, he was willing to do it, but would Sam understand?  And would he have to be alive or conscious while Castiel carved his heart out of his chest?

“Will you eat it?” Dean asked, unable to come up with a more intelligible question.

Castiel smiled.  “I might.  Do you accept?”

“Will you hurt Sam?  After I’ve made my payment?”

“No.  That is neither my fate nor his.”

Dean nodded.  This sucked.  Of course, maybe there was a way out of this.  He could make the promise now, bring Castiel to Sam, and if he could help—negotiate something else.  Kill Castiel.  Run away with Sam.

“Okay.  I agree to your terms.”

“I agree to them as well.  Sleep here.  We’ll leave in the morning.”

Dean ran his fingers through the luxurious fur he sat upon.  It would make a good bed.

“What is this?  I’ve never seen an animal this big or with this coloring.”

“It’s a cravtao.  They have been extinct for some centuries now.  I’m not surprised you’ve never seen one.”

“How—how did you get it?”

Dean was half expecting Castiel to say that he hunted the thing himself and was a thousand years old, but all he said was, “I inherited it.”

Dean had little memory of what happened after that.  He knew that he slept well and in the morning the table was laden with bread and cheese and scrambled quail eggs and a ceramic jar of dark, thick honey.  Once again he ate until he was full, and then stuffed another piece of honey-soaked bread into his mouth.

From one moment to the next, he sensed he wasn’t alone in the room and turned to see Castiel standing behind him.  He wasn’t close, and he was wasn’t staring at him—he was packing cloth wrapped packages into a knapsack—but Dean just felt that he’d been in the room longer, watching Dean, and only let him know he was there when he was ready for him to know.

“If you wish to relieve yourself, you can use the chamber to the left of the fireplace,” Castiel spoke as he stood up.  “I will fill the water skins, and then we will be on our way.”

“I hope you have some good rope, and a lot of it,” Dean commented as he got to his feet.

“I do.”

Dean made his way tentatively into the dark cave, but soon saw the glow of light coming from another chamber.  The cave was small and barren except for a hole in the corner.  Dean walked over to it and looked down.  He could see nothing but black.  He couldn’t smell anything either.  Curious, he picked up a loose stone and dropped it down the opening.  He waited, listening for the clink of stone, the plip of water, or the plop of human waste.  He heard nothing.  He dropped another stone.  Again he heard nothing.  Either the hole was very, very, _very_ deep, or there was some sort of magic that just made everything that entered the hole disappear.  He looked around for a stick or something else that he could put in the hole but still hold onto the other end.  Nothing was handy and he did have to pee, so he watched his urine disappear down the hole, wondering if it was just falling out of sight or literally disappearing.

When he returned to the main room, the table was cleared off and the fire was smoldering in the hearth.  It was still large enough that dim light filled the room.  Castiel handed him a fairly heavy knapsack and a water skin.

“Shall we?”

“Where’s the rope?”

“What rope?”

“You said you had a lot of good rope.”

“I do.”

“Well, don’t you think you need to bring it?”

“No.”

Castiel began walking up the tunnel that led outside.  Dean followed, both annoyed with Castiel’s nonchalance and concerned with how they were going to get down the mountain.  Outside the sun was just breaking through the morning mist on the horizon.  The light scattered, painting the sky with red, pink, and a trace of lavender.  It was breathtaking.

“This way,” Castiel said, walking in the opposite direction of the strip of stone that led to the landing Dean had scrambled onto the day before.

Dean followed, wondering if Castiel knew of a slightly less daunting rock face they could descend.  It seemed unlikely as the Mountain to Heaven was nothing but sharp spires and sheer drops.  They rounded a large, jutting rock revealing another small ledge overlooking the dizzying drop off the side of the mountain and—

Dean stopped in his tracks.  “What the—”

“I never understand why people always take the hardest way up,” Castiel said as he stepped onto the fairly wide stairs that had been carved into the side of the mountain.  “Why climb a difficult mountainside when you can take the stairs?”

Dean stared dumfounded for a moment.  There were frickin’ stairs?  He remained still, looking dumbly at the safe passage up and down the mountain, until Castiel rounded the curve and disappeared from sight.  Dean ran after him, but then slowed when he stepped onto the stairs.  Yes, this was infinitely easier, but the stairs were only about three feet wide and offered no guard against plummeting over the side to oblivion.  He caught up to Castiel and walked a couple of paces behind him so as not to crowd him, but to be within grabbing distance if he needed help.

The descent only took a day and a half.  The night had been awkward as Castiel had been awake after he fell asleep and before he woke up.  He wondered if The Diviner had to sleep at all.  They spoke easily.  At least, Dean spoke a lot and Castiel appeared to listen attentively, occasionally asking a question that revealed that he knew very little about the world off his mountain refuge.

When they reached the bottom of the mountain, Dean discovered why he (and everyone else he had ever talked to) had not known about the stairs.  They originated within the borders of Purgatory.  It meant a painful and prolonged death to any person from his country if they were caught on the wrong side of the border.  Dean hissed this in explanation to Castiel as he pulled him behind a bush to avoid being seen by two creatures that passed near them.  They looked human, but Dean knew better.

After a heated discussion, Castiel led them farther around the mountain and within half a day’s walk they crossed into Eden.  The inhabitants were non-violent and allowed anyone to pass through their lands so long as they remained non-violent as well.  No one knew what happened if someone broke that decree.  No one who had had ever been seen again.

It was much safer than Purgatory, but it was also a very long way from home.  They could have been back to the border of his own country in a shorter amount of time following the mountain in the other direction, but Castiel informed Dean that there was a large city built against the mountain standing in between them and Dean’s homeland.  It would be nearly impossible to pass by it unnoticed.  They would have to skirt it wide to the north, which would take them deep into the heart of the country and take the same amount of time as walking through Eden.

Dean was anxious and tense as they traveled the first couple of days until Castiel assured Dean that Sam would not expire before they reached him.  With that news, Dean was able to settle a bit and enjoy the experience.  Eden was beautiful, dreamlike…

The people were quirky, but friendly.  They were offered hospitality at any city, village, or hovel they approached for a place to stay for the night.  On nights when there was no shelter available, they didn’t even need it.  The nights were cool, but comfortable and it never rained despite the lush vegetation.  When a twig snapped, only cute, fluffy animals emerged from the brush.

Before going to sleep on the nights they slept outdoors, Castiel would point out a constellation to him and tell him the story behind the name.  The moon waxed and waned twice on their journey, and though he never saw Castiel sleep, he assumed he must since The Diviner was always in the same spot in the mornings, even when Dean hadn’t fallen asleep using his thigh as a pillow.

On their journey Castiel spoke very little about himself or his past or family, but he would offer bizarre non-answers to Dean’s questions that drove him nearly mad with frustration and curiosity.  By the time they crossed the border into Lebanon, Castiel must have known everything there was to know about Dean, but all Dean knew about him was that he liked people, didn’t mind living alone, and thought bees and dolphins were remarkable creatures.  Dean didn’t know what a dolphin was—it sounded made up: an air breathing non-fish that lived in the ocean—but he liked the way Castiel’s eyes lit up when he spoke about the creatures.

He liked Castiel in general.  He often forgot that at the end of this journey, Castiel was going to kill him.  Or Dean was going to have to kill him.  Or find some way to slip away with Sam unseen.  He couldn’t contemplate the possibility that Castiel couldn’t help Sam.

The weather changed markedly in Lebanon.  It was autumn, so it could have been worse, but some days were hot and sometimes rain drove them to huddle under scraggly trees and most people refused to take in two strange men even for one night.

At last Dean saw the Salt River, an alkaline strip of water that was really barely more than a creek.  But it meant he was near his village and they would be there before the end of the day.

Everyone was surprised to see him and said so loudly, declaring that they were certain he’d fallen to his death or been eaten by a mountain lion.  That last part was ridiculous since a lion couldn’t climb anywhere on the Mountain to Heaven.  It would have been more likely if he’d been eaten by a mountain goat.

Everyone eyed the stranger in the robe, but accepted Dean’s explanation that he was a healer he’d found to look at Sam.  Dean was hesitant to reveal that Castiel was The Diviner himself.  Everyone would clamber for his attention when they knew.  First he had to see Sam, and then Castiel could determine if he wanted to reveal his identity.  Castiel didn’t object to being called a healer, so Dean took that to mean that maybe he didn’t want the villagers to know.

The Mayor, Jody Mills, directed him to Bobby’s and Karen’s cabin.  They had been caring for Sam in Dean’s absence, and after he’d been gone a month, moved him into their home.  Dean was grateful he had them as they were as close to having an aunt and uncle that Dean and Sam had ever had.

After a brief greeting and even briefer thanks, Dean darted to the back of the house and found Sam had been given Bobby’s and Karen’s own room as it had an east facing window and the most comfortable bed.  The Singers were some of the few people in the village who had beds as most slept on pallets on the floor. Bobby was a carpenter and had built his house and every stick of furniture in it.

Dean hesitated at the threshold when he caught sight of his brother.  He was very pale and very still.  Dean walked reluctantly into the room, afraid of what would happen when he touched his brother.  Would his skin be cold and inert?  Clammy and sickly?  Feverish and sweaty?

Dean put a hand on his brother’s arm.  It was warm and dry, but his skin felt paper thin.  The touch made Sam flutter his eyes open.  When his vision focused he smiled at Dean.

“Knew you weren’t dead,” he rasped through dry lips.

Dean knelt to draw a dipperful of water from the bucket on the floor and offered it to his brother.  He managed to raise his head enough to drink a sip or two, but then dropped back onto the feather-stuffed mattress wearily.  Dean turned to where Castiel stood silent as death in the doorway.

“Can you help him?”

Castiel stepped into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed.  He placed a hand to Sam’s forehead, and then tenderly brushed a long lock of hair off his face and tucked it behind his ear.  Castiel looked at Dean.

“Your brother is not sick.  He is cursed.”

“Cursed?”  Dean felt the blood drain from his face.  Then he was doomed.  They all were.

“Yes, but he has the power to break this curse himself, if he has the strength to do so.”

“Strength?  Look at him!  He can’t even lift his head!”

“Not physical strength.  Strength of will.  Strength of character.”  He looked back at Sam.  “Sam.  Do you know why you were cursed?”

Sam shook his head.  Castiel tilted his head in response, his blue eyes boring into Sam’s hazel ones.  Sam looked away, ashamed, and then nodded.  Dean’s eyebrows shot up.

“You knew you were cursed?”

“N-no,” Sam said weakly.  “I didn’t.  But…it makes sense.  Now that I let myself think about it.”

“What does he have to do to break it?”

“I have to stop using magic.”

“M-magic?”  Dean’s question was barely a whisper.  “You’re a magic-user?” he continued, still in hushed tones.  Magic was forbidden in Lebanon.

“I discovered I had it when we were children.  Mother had it too.  It killed her, like it’s killing me.  But she used her magic for good, to protect the village.  I don’t understand why she would be cursed like me.  I used my magic to help a girl I love—thought I loved—get revenge for her family by ruining an entire town.  I’m responsible for the famine and pestilence that plagued Stull until the town itself died and everyone had to scatter and flee.  I—”

Sam cut off and drew in a shaky breath.  “I didn’t mean for it to go that far.  I guess it doesn’t matter though.  Magic kills whether you use it for good or not.”

Castiel scoffed.  “That’s untrue.  If your mother truly died of a magical curse, she must have done something to deserve it.”

“Easy,” Dean warned with a little growl in his voice.

“I meant no offense.  I simply meant that a magical curse can only affect a magical user who inflicts ill will upon a person or the natural world.  Sam shows signs of illness and wasting away because he waged famine and pestilence on others.  Perhaps your mother didn’t die of this curse at all.”

“How do we save Sam?  He’s not using magic now, are you?”  Sam shook his head.  “And if that town died, does that mean he will too?”

“Using magic doesn’t cause this.  Using magic merely creates an echo, and whatever you did will come back to you.  It is only through terrible malice that an echo is strong enough to maim and kill.  But a construct like a town or a village can’t really die; did any villager die from your actions?”

“Not that I know of,” Sam said.

“And this curse has been persistent for a year?”

Sam nodded.

“Well.  Then it is your own guilty conscious doing this to you.  Forgive yourself and move on, or linger in despair until your end.”

“That’s your solution?!” Dean shouted.  “You’re no help at all!”

“You brought me here to cure an illness.  If you had told me he was cursed, I would have told you there was nothing I could do.”

“Dean…who is this?”

“The Diviner,” Dean spat with disgust.  “A useless fraud.”

Castiel stared at him impassively with those huge eyes.  Dean had to look away.  He moved across the room, his chest tight.  He felt like something inside of him was…dying.  He had come to like and trust Castiel on their journey.  He considered him a friend.  It hurt to be so disappointed by him.  It hurt worse to unfairly blame him for something that was beyond his control, but Dean had to direct his helpless despair somewhere.

“Are you really The Diviner?” Sam asked.

Dean glanced back and felt his chest squeeze even tighter as he watched Castiel gently take Sam’s hand in his and caress it comfortingly.

“I am.”

“Do you know my fate?”

“I do.”

“Can you tell me?”

“You are fated for greatness.  A man who learns from his worst mistake and can force himself to go on despite the guilt and the doubt and sense of worthlessness that weighs him down is a man who can accomplish anything.  Or at least be willing to try.”

“Greatness, like leader of a nation greatness?” Dean asked, taking a step closer.

“Greatness can be measured within a man himself.  Sam’s greatness could be his ability to live a life dedicated to being a better man.”

“Oh,” came the twin sounds of clear disappointment from both brothers.

Castiel smiled.  “Or it could refer to a greatness that is enshrined by the people and remembered forever in history.”  He tapped Sam on the nose with a finger.  “A man shouldn’t know too much about his own fate.”

Sam laughed, and it wasn’t strained.  His breathing had evened out and his color had returned a bit.  He was still weak, but it was apparent even to Dean’s eyes that Sam was beginning to recover.

“How is this possible?” Sam asked, feeling a difference in his body and even his mind.

“The curse is broken.”

“How?”

“You believe in yourself again.”

Sam’s cheeks turned a healthy pink color and he dropped his eyes.  Castiel brushed his hair back again.

“You should rest.  You’ll be able to sleep well for the first time in a year.  When you wake, you’ll be better, but you still have a long way to recovery.  Do you understand?”

Sam nodded.  Castiel stood up and passed by Dean as he left the room, his bare feet silent on the wooden planks.  Dean knelt next to the bed and took Sam’s hand.

“You okay?”

Sam nodded, tears in his eyes.  “I think so.  But like The Diviner said, it will be up to me now to make sure I keep the curse at bay.  I don’t think it’s broken, not really.  I don’t think it will ever go away.  It will come back if I have a moment of weakness, but I’m determined to not let that happen.  Not only for myself, but for you and Bobby and Karen and our village and—and all the people I’ve hurt.  Dean…”

“Yes?”

“Thank him.  I should have said something.  He’s the one who made me realize there is hope.  He saved me just as much as I have anything to do with it.”

Dean’s smile faltered.  “Castiel saved you…”

“Yes, I think so.  Don’t you?”

Dean nodded and forced a smile.  He stood up.  “I’ll thank him for us both.  Promise me you won’t give up on this path no matter what.”

Sam nodded.

“Promise me.  No matter what.”

“No matter what,” Sam repeated, mystified.

Dean leaned over and kissed Sam’s forehead.  “I love you, brother.  Sleep well.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean left the room and remained detached as he explained as best he could to Bobby and Karen what had happened.  They were overjoyed and hugged him and each other and told him to go get Castiel and bring him back for dinner.  It was the least they could do for him.  Dean nodded numbly, and walked the short path from the Singers’ abode to the one Sam and Dean had occupied since birth.  Castiel had informed Bobby and Karen he was going to wait for Dean there, and no one questioned how he knew which structure was the Winchesters’.  It was one of only three log cabins in a village made mostly of mud brick hovels.  John Winchester had been a carpenter too.

Inside his home, familiar to him as the back of his hand, there was an unfamiliar glow of light from the back rooms.  Dean found Castiel in his bedroom, holding a small jar that contained a blue-green tinted white light which illuminated about three feet around him.  He set it on the table by the bed and turned to face Dean when he walked into the room.

“You saved my brother,” Dean stated.

“He saved himself.”

“He wouldn’t have been able to if you hadn’t come.”

“His fate would be unchanged even if I hadn’t come here.”

“So…you have nothing to do with him being well now?” Dean asked hopefully.

“My being here has probably changed the greatness to which he will aspire.”

Dean’s stomach twisted anxiously.  “You did save him.”

“If that’s how you wish to interpret it.”

“Then…”  Dean pulled out the large, sharp knife he kept strapped to his waist at all times.  He offered it to Castiel who took the weapon with his elegant fingers.  “I have to honor our agreement.”

The idea of attacking Castiel or running away seemed impossible.  All he could do was sacrifice his life for Sam’s happiness.  Castiel placed the knife on the table next to the glowing jar.  Dean looked to Castiel for an explanation.

“Our arrangement was not that I would take your heart, but that you would give it to me.”

Dean stared uncomprehending for several moments, and then his feet took one, two steps closer to Castiel before his brain caught up to what they were doing.  By then it was too late though, Dean was so close to Castiel he could catch the scent of fresh, cool water on his skin and feel the contradictory heat from his sweet breath as it ghosted over Dean’s lips.

Dean cupped Castiel’s jaw in his hands and leaned forward to kiss him.  All in a moment it was a violent thunderstorm and like soaring through the clouds on a new spring day.  Dean felt his heart thudding wildly in his chest, his ears ringing with how quickly the blood was rushing by in his head.  He pulled back, feeling a little dizzy, but there was a smile on his lips.

He dropped his hands to Castiel’s shoulders and said, “My heart is yours.”

Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean and pulled him close.

“As it was fated to be.”


End file.
